Eleanor, the Villain

You were a small mouse,

and a good mouse.

Though we never got to know each other,

you probably lived around my house.

Newark Poem Erat

We were champions,

naked and sweating after the beach,

in love with brick that cost too much.

What about that old and gone friend,

on the rooftop?

The spring (years later)

too quiet across the river,

calling it off,

finding books and selling music,

going-going-gone.

A heart beats stronger

in regular sunlight,

an overhead announcement,

a card game,

a box fan,

a reunion in California.

But there you are

you old concrete jerk,

my good for a weekend Bette.

Linger on,

your pale blue skies.

The decade,

you gorgeous wonders,

you angels,

my Northeast train tracks.

I'm always coming home when the streetlight turns on.